Dawn and Daydreams
by starry19
Summary: "An armful of Teresa Lisbon should be routine now. Not something to be taken for granted, never that, but more like a minor miracle to which he had simply become accustomed."


**AN**: I don't even know where this came from. I think I just haven't written a story in a week and was getting antsy. We'll just call this a post-RJ/morning after story, mkay?

Also, I don't know if this has a point. Ah, well. It's fluffy. Enjoy it.

**Dawn and Daydreams**

Her eyes were green, but in the bare light of early dawn, they could be any color.

She hadn't stopped looking at him, lashes dark against her skin, her pale cheek under the soft touch of his hand.

The smooth percale of her sheets was wrapped around both of them, duvet cover pushed aside long ago in favor of body heat.

Her lips were slightly swollen, evidence of his earlier attentions, and he was fairly certain he had marred her ivory body with the abrasiveness of his stubble in more than a few places.

She was unequivocally marked as his now.

The thought made him smile.

Lisbon returned the gesture, though he knew she wasn't sure why, and he made an attempt to curl closer to her, though at this point it was almost impossible.

The warmth of her resting form was making his eyelids heavy. He had held them up all through the night, learning her every curve, every place that made her sigh in pleasure or shiver in anticipation. In truth, he had lost track of the times they had chased the streak of white hot passion running through their veins in the preceding hours.

All he knew was that he had no desire to ever leave this bed, this woman, ever again.

Everything about where he had ended up was soft, warm. Silky hair, running through his fingers, supple arms wrapped around him, her velvety voice in his ear.

For the past decade, everything about his life had been hard, edged in jagged points. This was a haven where his weary body could find reprieve and the sort of healing he had constantly and consciously been denying himself.

He still didn't deserve it, but he had simply become too weak to fight was had started to appear more and more inevitable.

Looking back, he wished he would have given in years ago. How different things would be.

She brushed his tumbling hair out of his eyes. "You look sad suddenly," she murmured, clearly concerned about the direction of his thoughts.

"Just remembering that I'm an idiot," he whispered back, quite honestly.

It was entirely his doing that _this_ morning had been given the distinction of their first together, and not some equally deserving day a handful of years ago. An armful of Teresa Lisbon should be routine now. Not something to be taken for granted, never that, but more like a minor miracle to which he had simply become accustomed.

"Do you forget that often?" she teased, eyes sparkling.

"I'm sure if I ever do again, you'll be more than happy to remind me," he shot back, absently wondering if she would attempt to smother him if he tickled her.

She kissed him lightly then, with no more pressure than a snowflake's touch across his lips, and resettled herself against his chest.

He had very recently learned that she liked to lay with her head over his heart. It was touching and heart-wrenching all at once.

Touching because it was a gesture that spoke of enormous tenderness and love. She was protecting his heart, in more ways than one, whether she thought of it that way or not.

But also heart-wrenching because he was just now beginning to realize the depth of her feelings, the one she had kept hidden even from herself, and to understand the nights she had laid in this very bed, wondering if her secret dreams would ever come to fruition.

The image of her, arms locked around a chilly pillow, eyes closed tightly, hoping that if she tried hard enough she could imagine him there, made him unbelievably sad.

Who was he, really, to have denied her these things for so very long?

He recalled how she looked the precise moment she started to believe that she was truly going to get what she wanted. She had been all trembling fingertips and quivering breaths, shakily exhaled into his neck, hands just barely daring to touch him.

Of course, if he was being honest, he wasn't sure his own reactions had been much more controlled. He had moved slowly, like a dreamer who was reluctant to wake, or someone underwater, kissing her with languid, distracted motions, stopping often to draw breath and simply stare at her.

The first instant skin met skin was like breaking the surface of a deep pond and being met with winter air. Exhilarating, powerful, breath-taking.

Life affirming.

The emotions had been overwhelming. Someone had been shaking with reaction, she had said his name once, and when he looked in her eyes, he had been convinced he had seen his own soul.

He wasn't a religious man by any means, but it had been a deeply spiritual experience, like a devoted pilgrim paying tribute to his god. His praying lips had whispered against the place where her neck and shoulder met, worshipping hands unable to keep still.

When they had both come back down, shivering as they were caught by the velvety jolts of residual pleasure, he gathered her in his arms, absolutely desperate to not have an inch of separation between them.

They had come so far to arrive at this point, survived so many obstacles that would have destroyed anyone else, that he was utterly unwilling to waste another moment.

Since the first time he had touched her, touched her _honestly_, they had never been fully physically separated. He knew it had only been a matter of hours, but he thought it was setting a precedent that begged to be followed.

Work could be an obstacle, but he was very creative.

His fingers drifted over her narrow back, noting his hands could almost cover her completely. Her small stature was something that he didn't fully consider often; her inner strength projected outwards, making her seem larger than she really was.

In truth, though, she was about as petite as she could be. He would say fairy-like, but she would probably be inclined to shoot him.

Her long hair cascaded across his chest, the light creeping out from behind the curtains bringing out the coppery highlights.

There was such peace in this moment that it stole his breath.

"Don't go to work today," he murmured eventually. "It can all wait."

She knew what he meant by _it_ – the fallout from the events of the day before. It would have to be faced eventually, _he_ would have to face it, but for now, he was unwilling to dispel the quietness in his heart. For just a while, he had been able to push the ugliness and the evil of the past aside, and he was reveling in it, clinging to it.

Frowning, she tapped her fingers against his stomach. "It doesn't seem right to stick the rest of the team with all of the work. I should go in, at least for a while."

He tightened his arms and shook his head. "Stay with me," he said softly. "I need you more than they do."

Her face gentled, and he knew he had won. "Alright," she conceded, "but you have to help me fill out incident forms later."

He made a noncommittal noise, dropping a kiss on her nose. "You'd be useless at work, anyway," he remarked. "You didn't sleep at all last night, remember?"

Her cheek heated and he smiled.

Absently, she stretched, yawning now.

Suddenly, he found that he wanted nothing more than to feel her sleeping weight against him, to hold her at her most vulnerable. Nine times out of ten, she was the one protecting him.

He tugged the covers up to her shoulders, sinking down further into the pillows.

"I think you've earned a nap," he whispered tenderly.

She snuggled into him. "I'm pretty sure you did the vast majority of the work," she noted, eyes closed now.

Purposely, he decided to rile her up. "It's because I'm in better shape."

Lisbon snorted with derision. "Sure you are. Taking naps is great exercise."

They both chuckled, and he was so thankful that there was no lingering awkwardness, no unresolved tension to cast a shadow on their time together.

As the corners of her bedroom filled with light, he felt her small body relax totally against him.

He had seen her sleep several times in the past years, often with her head crammed uncomfortably against the keyboard on her desk, but he had never known what this was like. Almost immediately, he came to the conclusion that he needed to repeat this every night for the rest of his life.

The sun caught his wedding ring, and he was very aware of its weight. After more than fifteen years of wearing it constantly, he hardly felt it these days.

But.

Now he knew it was there, could feel the unyielding metal.

It was going to come off.

Not at this second, though. What would he do with it now? Hold it in his hand until Lisbon woke up?

Of course, he wasn't exactly sure what he was going to do with it anyway. He could fling it into the ocean from the beach behind the house in Malibu, but perhaps that was too much, too dramatic. He doubted it would be as cathartic and healing as it looked.

It would remain an unresolved issue, then, at least for the time being.

He pushed it out of his mind.

No dark things were allowed there today.

Carefully, he shifted until they were both lying on their sides again. He needed to see her face. Although every line, every freckle was imbedded forever in his memory palace, there was nothing quite like seeing it in person. Even his elaborate mind couldn't full capture how alive, how vibrant she looked.

Almost compulsively, he kissed the corner of her mouth, then let his lips wander to her cheek, her temple. He kept the pressure light, afraid of waking her, but her skin tasted as sweet now as it did the first time he discovered it.

Her hand came up to rest on his side, and he kissed her forehead before resting back against the mattress. He needed to sleep, too, wanted to know what it would be like to wake up with her. It seemed like the most important thing in the world.

The sun was fully up when he closed his eyes, and he hoped the sense of well-being he felt would last forever.

Lisbon's warm weight pulled him under, and he drifted off with his lips still turned upwards.

It had taken ten years, but dawn had finally come for him, too.


End file.
